The Lost Grimoire
by McKid
Summary: Sorcerers run the world now and the battle between the Socerers and Necromancers has begun, to control the people and the magic in the world. First story, R&R.
1. Waking Up

Griffin Driscol was the most promising apprentice Sorcerer in all of the Land of the Lakes, the central province, probably in all of the provinces. He had met the Archmage of the Land of Lakes, the leader of the province, on several occasions, dined with the Hierarcha, the elected body of the province, mastered spells most people his age, a stupefying eighteen, never even heard of and was eligible to become a sorcerer before his twenty-first birthday.

Yet he still couldn't wake up on time.

"You know," he heard his master say from the doorway. "When you become a Sorcerer, you won't have me to wake you."

Griffin groaned loudly. "What time is it, Caine?"

"About half an hour before we are supposed to be at Hierarcha Seat for that meeting," he said casually, as if he were talking about the taste of water, while fumbling with his vest.

"What?" Griffin shouted as he jolted out of bed, his black hair a mess. He still had on his nightgown. He quickly yanked it off, as he scrambled around his filthy room, looking for his Sorcerer suit, listening to Caine laugh.

Caine Bristow was Griffin's master, a jokester and the youngest member Hierarcha, at twenty five. While he could be serious, dress up and make a good impression, he would rather wear a shirt and shorts and live life. Unfortunately, making money, gaining power and raising a family did not allow that.

Griffin came to the Bristow house when he was sixteen, when all apprentices leave their old master and family for their final training. He had already Memorized many spells, meaning he no longer had to say them aloud to make them work. He was fluent in Latin, the language of Sorcery. Caine was amazed at his apprentice's progress and immediately set to teaching Griffin advanced magic, magic that no one had ever been able to Memorize. Even though he never said so, he felt that Griffin had the ability to become the next Archmage.

Although, watching Griffin struggle to put together his Sorcerer suit, a suit with long coattails and gold buttons and swirling designs, he allowed himself a chuckle and doubted his assumption.

"My hat!" Griffin cried. He was frantically looking around, with his hair still disheveled and his collar half upturned. "Where's my hat?" All Sorcerers have a three point hat that distinguishes there rank, apprentice, Sorcerer, Archsorcerer, Hierarcha or Archmage. With each rank, the hat grows more ornate and woven.

"Where did you have it last?" Caine asked, stepping into the battle ground of a room.

"I dunno," Griffin said. "I…I think I had it after the dinner with your friends last night, then you went in to tuck in Tristan and I took it off…" Griffin trailed off as his master's face grew angry.

Tristan was Caine's three year old son, whom he loves very much and needs his sleep. He is also a very light sleeper. One sound in his room and he is up, like he heard a herd of elephants.

"Do you think you could magick it out of there?" Caine asks, trying to keep his voice level.

Griffin nodded eagerly. "No problem."

"Let's hope so," Caine said, letting the anger seep in his voice. Again, Griffin hung his head in shame. Griffin felt Tristan was as much his responsibility as Caine's. He would watch Tristan whenever Caine and his wife, Angela wanted a night for themselves. He helped care for him and got up in the middle of the night to soothe him back to sleep.

Quietly, the pair crept to baby Tristan's room. Opening the door as silent as a mouse, they poked their heads in and looked around. Poking his master in the shoulder, Griffin pointed to his hat lying near the chair that Caine rocked his child to sleep every night. Griffin suddenly remembered taking his hat of, tired from the last nights festivities and must have let it slip through his fingers unconsciously.

He smiled as he remembered last night. It was a fun dinner actually. Most dinners that are with the Hierarcha and the Archmage are interesting and all, but they have special rules and dictations. Laugh when appropriate, be formal and not silly, make small talk, save business for after dinner, address everyone by title, don't do this, don't do that, do this only here, here and here. It was like patting your head, rubbing your tummy, while jumping up and done on one foot, counting in Latin backwards from one hundred and crossing your eyes all at the same time. It didn't flow.

This party was different. It was at a nice family restaurant, sitting outside with the sun setting over Lake Michigan and Huron. He had been invited to join Caine and Angela, along with some of their friends and apprentices for a dinner for no-reason-let's-just-have-fun. Caine and his friends sat down at one table and the apprentices sat another. They could all hear their Masters laughing and talking like, well, like they were old friends, which they were… The apprentices sat in uncomfortable silence, no one wishing to break the ice. Finally Griffin, sick of the quiet, said, "I'm Griffin Driscol, apprentice to Caine Bristow." Everyone politely nodded and said "Hello" and they were all introducing themselves, relaxing a bit. Another apprentice, Sarai, told everyone of a time she accidently confused the word _unda, _wave, _unde_, from there, and ended up with a shark that almost bit her instead of a wave of water. All the apprentices laughed, because they could all relate. The rest of the night followed the same path, exchanging funny stories and moments, confusing a word, underestimating the power of a spell and ending up with a near deathly accident. At first it was terrifying, Griffin had plenty of those, but afterwards they make great stories to tell. He had a really good one where he accidently said _Listen to_ _dog,_ instead of _Listen to me fire_ and his master was mauled by dogs as he tried to leave one afternoon and all the dogs rushed upstairs and tried to lick Griffin to death before Caine sent them home,

The evening was going great until one of the apprentices, he said he was Drake Romanno, apprentice to a Hierarcha, asked Griffin a question. They had been laughing at a time when some accidently burnt down a house and their master came home to see his house a pile of ash, when all of a sudden Drake, a curly black haired kid with green eyes and a scar on the left side of his face, who had been quiet all night, asked, "Griffin, I've heard you are really talented in magic. What makes you so special? What makes you different from us?"

Griffin was drinking water from a crystal glass and the question had caught him so off guard, he nearly choked and water dribbled through his lips.

"Come again?" he asked, after he cleared his throat.

"What makes you better than us Griffin?" Drake asked again, a cold smile playing on his lips. "I've heard so much about you, how great and talented you are, I was wondering what put you up there."

"Oh, come off it Drake," another apprentice said. "Griffin isn't better than all of us. He was just born naturally talented. We all have our skills and Griffin's happens to be magic."

"Really," Drake said, mocking contemplation, pretending to stoke a beard he did not have. "Well, I'd hear like what the man has to say himself.

Griffin fumbled around with the napkin on his lap, trying to stall time. He had never been a good public speaker and was a laughing stock at impromptu speaking. A rock would be better at it than him. And, even if he was a good speaker, he didn't know how he became so good at magic or why he was. His gift had been discovered when he was three and made a little flower grow to the size of puppy when he talked to it in Latin.

"Well," Griffin said, trying to conceal his knocking knees, "when I was s-small, I made a plant gr-grow the size of a p-puppy. I was th-three then."

"Yes, fascinating," Drake said not at all trying to conceal the sarcasm in his voice, the idiotic, arrogant grin still on his face.

_I really hate this kid, _Griffin thought, the grin plastered in his mind, being the coal for his anger. _I really hate him._

"Well, Drake," Griffin said, making sure all the apprentices eye's were upon him suddenly feeling extraordinarily brave. "I don't know about you, but _I_ have Memorized the Love spell, you know _Face haec femina amat hoc virum?_ The Archmage himself told me he had trouble with it still."

The silly, and slightly scary, grin dropped from Drake's face like a lump of lead while everyone else at the table stared in awe at Griffin. The look on his face told him he had never heard of this spell or seen it, but his knowledge of Latin allowed him to translate it.

"Well then, why don't you prove it?" Drake hissed his voice somewhat reminiscent of a snake's.

"As you wish," Griffin said mockingly. All the apprentices watched Griffin with apprehension, seeing if he dared. It was very impolite to use magic this way, almost considered taboo, but that did not make it any less entertaining.

A waitress was walking boy, carrying nothing. Griffin focused upon the spell and looked at the women. Suddenly, she turned and ran to Drake and knelt before him and began to profess her love.

"Oh darling, Drake," she said fawning over him. "I've missed you, have you missed me? Oh, your hair is so lovely to touch," she said, stroking his hair. "Please, come to me, oh my dove. You are mine, aren't you? And who is this?" she suddenly cried angrily, her voice rising to a shriek, pointing to Sarai, who was sitting next to Drake and trying hard not to burst with laughter.

"You've been cheating on me, haven't you? She's your new girlfriend, isn't she? Don't lie, I can tell!" she cried, when Drake tried to speak. "Don't talk to me. If you promise you'll never leave me, I'll forgive you, sweetheart. Our love is too strong to be broken by some silly, ugly, little girl." Sarai suddenly couldn't control it and burst into laughter. The waitress frowned at Sarai and immediately turned back to Drake, her eye's all aglow. "Promise me you love me! DO IT!" the waitress cried, grabbing Drake's hands.

"But―but, what?" Drake cried out, confused. "You said don't talk…"

"What do you mean, dearie?" the waitress asked. Her ever smiling face frowned, broken and angry. "You don't love me? What did I do wrong? What are my faults?"

"Get away!" Drake shouted, pulling his hands from her. The waitress looked ready to cry. But Griffin was not ready to end it quite yet. A water cart was passing behind the waitress. Griffin willed her to…she did! The waitress grabbed a pitcher of water and poured over Drake's head and promptly turned on her heel and walked away. With a wave of his hand, Griffin remove the spell on the girl.

All the apprentices could not contain their laughter anymore and when they saw the drenched and soaked Drake they broke loose. The masters, two tables over, their interest piqued looked over. Caine immediately began to laugh, thinking it was a complete accident that an apprentice was soaked through with water. The masters resumed their eating, paying it no mind.

The rest of evening passed mostly uneventful. Everyone congratulated Griffin on a spell played, except Drake of course, quietly brooding over the events. They resumed eating and went on to deserts, telling another of spells gone wrong and funny spells they performed.

Late at night, close to eleven o'clock, the friends finally adjourned. Griffin saw Drake and his master begin to leave immediately, but not before Drake's master glared at him. He had dark, almost lifeless eyes that seemed fathoms deep. His skin was taut and pale, his hair white and limp. It terrified Griffin that he turned back toward Caine and Angela. As Drake walked past him, he made plenty to sure to crush his foot and ram into his shoulder. But he didn't whine. He didn't want to give Drake the satisfaction of paining him. His eyes began to water, however.

"Well, aren't you going to get it?" he heard Caine whisper in his ear. Griffin nodded. He held out his hand and focused on having the hat on his hand. Spells never worked unless you focused on the result. If you ever said a powerful spell, whose words never matched with your will, disastrous things would happen, such as death or being dissolved or simply disappearing. That's why it was so hard to Memorize powerful spells. You had to be able to know the words by heart and it was dangerous to rely upon them, in case you ever mispronounced or conjugated a verb wrong.

The hat slowly moved towards Griffin's hand. It was getting hard to focus on this for so long; the strain was too much for him. Caine saw his apprentice's anxiety and stepped into help him. Soon, the hat was securely in his hand. As Caine shut the door, it closed with a loud bang. Caine winced. Not because he knew his son would wake up, but because Angela would chew him out for slamming a door shut.

"Did I just hear a door slam?" she called from the kitchen, feigning ignorance.

"No," Caine and Griffin said, hoping she would believe it.

"Cause if a door did slam, and you're not telling me who did it, both of you will get it later," Angela replied threateningly.

"I think she actually means it this time," Griffin said laughing.

"I do mean it!" Angela shouted from downstairs. "I think a lovely hex to make your noses grow like a tree out to finish the job

Immediately, the pair ran downstairs, selling each other out.

"It was him I swear!" Griffin cried. "We had gone to Tristan's room to get something and he slammed the door, in Tristan's room! Can you believe it?"

"Well we wouldn't have had to go there if _you_ hadn't dropped _your _hat in there!" Caine retaliated.

"Alright, _satis, satis, _enough," Angela said as she placed their breakfast before them on the wooden table. "Eat up you two, today's a busy day."

Angela looked at the grand clock in the hallway before the great double doors. "Don't you have to be at the Seat in fifteen minutes?" Angela asked as she looked at the clock. As she turned around, Caine and Griffin ran past her to the door shouting, "Thanks for the breakfast darling, it was great!" "Breakfast was great Mrs. Bristow!" Griffin yelled, adjusting his coat and hat.

"You barely ate anything!" Angela yelled as her husband and his apprentice left.

Angela allowed herself a chuckle as she watched them walk down the road. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say those two were brothers."


	2. The Exchange

Note: I may use different terms for landmarks (ex: Eastern Mountains = Appalachian Mountains)

The city of Ponta covered the two bits of land, bordering where Lake Michigan and Huron met. On the northern side was the area known as the Sorcerer District, with grand mansions, manicured lawns, and fancy, well made food. Luxurious shops filled with musty tomes and suits made of silk with detail etched in every stitch. All Mundunes, non-magic folk, aspired to work there and make a new life there, for the pay was good and honest. Unfortunately, only the best of the best worked there and the best of the best of the best lived there.

On the southern land of Ponta was the Sink Hole as it is commonly called by Sorcerer and Mundune. Smoke fills the sky as it pours out like syrup from the chimneys reaching toward the sky. The streets are covered with grime and other things decent company would rather not know. Many Mundunes on the northern side of the Sink Hole live decent and happy lives. The further in you get, the land begins to slant and the alleys darker, the roads grimier and filthier, the air thick and steamy like a warm bath, only smoky and uncomforting. Finally at the bottom of the slant is a hole, filled with water so acidic, the ground around it crumbles easily, where the Sink Hole gets its name. It is rumored it was made by Necromancers.

Many Mundunes are pleasant people, not all miffed by Sorcerers, who often do their best to be friendly and kind to then Mundunes, treating them as equals and hate it when they bow to Sorcerers, an old practice that many hate. As you go further in the Sink Hole, you'll find a more negative and irate view to the Sorcerers. Many Mundunes blame the Sorcerers for angering the Necromancers and their current, low position in life. Although many reproach this view, it is partially true…

Connecting the Sorcerer District and the Sink Hole is the Exchange, a large bridge numbering half a mile long and four miles wide.

The Exchange is where many average markets are set up. Many excel at what they do and visited daily by Sorcerers and Mundunes alike, such as the Valley Farmers Market and Hugo's Library and Shoppe. Others, near the southern end of the Exchange, are lower class markets, where much haggling and bartering is done for second rate goods and the stray dead body is never an unusual sight. Most tend to avoid this dark, rundown area, if it is possible.

Also centered on the Exchange is the Hierarcha Seat, the government building. An ornate building in the very center of the Exchange, with a high clock tower, with silver bells, chiming out the hour and courtyard, filled with fragrant scents and gardens close to Eden. Stained glass windows, showing the epic battles of the sealing of the Necromancers in the Wastes, brighten the rooms. The grandest treasure that the Hierarcha Seat holds is the Grand Library, where volumes of history and magic fill the sky high room. At the center is the Seat, where the Hierarcha and Archmage meet to discuss politics, with an ornate tile floor and a lovely cherry wood circular table, holding seats for ten and one.

It was bright morning over the city of Ponta, when Griffin and his master Caine stepped out into the cobbled streets of the Sorcerer District. Caine had long blonde hair, which he often pulled back in a ponytail and bright blue eyes that undoubtedly held the spark of life in them. Griffin had black hair that he never could seem to tame and curious green eyes that still could not seem to grasp his new home in Ponta, even after two years. Ponta, while it was a small capitol town, had a hefty population and was filled with many interesting people and wonders that attracted many people.

Caine's suit was blue in color, with interlaced gold strands tracing the main stitches that held it together. His three point hat was also blue, with gold leaves stitched in and a tiny blue jay feather placed on the front corner. Griffin wore a black suit that had green swirls on it. His hat however was, like most apprentices, a single, solid color. His happened to be black and had no feather. A Sorcerer's suit was a regular suit, with long coattails that sort of billowed around the wearer and had solid-colored vest with a tuxedo shirt on underneath.

"What's today's meeting at the Hierarcha Seat about today, Caine?" Griffin asked after they left the house.

"It's just a general meeting," Caine replied casually, "where we discuss basic things, like taxes and politics and such. That's why some apprentices were invited."

"Only some?" Griffin asked, confused. He had thought all the apprentices of the Hierarcha were invited. "Why?"

"Only the most likely to join the Hierarcha," Caine replied.

"But why?" Griffin asked. "It doesn't seem fair for only the most likely get to sit in."

Caine paused and said, somewhat tersely, "The Archmage decided so."

"Doesn't the Hierarcha have power over him and the right to veto his decisions?"

"Yes," Caine replied, restraining his anger.

"So couldn't you overrule him?"

"Yes!" Caine replied, no longer trying to restrain himself. "We could, and you know that! But the Archmage rejected our veto, alright?"

Griffin cowered and muttered, "I'm sorry, master."

Caine shook his head and placed his head in his hands, "Please, never call me master. I hate it. And it is I who should apologize. You were asking questions and I should have answered them without getting angry. I'm sorry, for I know how many questions you ask." Caine smiled a big and hearty smile. Griffin laughed.

Griffin had always been curious boy. When he still lived with his family and his old master, Griffin could be found to be pouring his books of history and Latin, absorbing the knowledge between the pages. His old master often chastised him for asking so many questions, questions of an unnatural sense, but Caine let him embrace his curiosity. He encouraged questioning, even of things people had accepted as solid fact and of people who were supposedly not to be questioned. Like the Archmage.

They reached the Exchange, just as the sun was rising in the east, crossing the Eastern Mountains. The sun glistened on crystalline water as fish playfully splashed about. Market Squares were beginning to open up as owners were sweeping away trash and dust from their doorsteps. The road became flagged stone. Mundunes bowed low to Griffin and Caine as they passed.

"I really wish they wouldn't do that," Griffin whispered. "You should only bow to kings and princes and we are neither."

"I agree," Caine replied. "And most others do. But the Hierarcha like it. Makes them feel special."

"But you're in the Hierarcha," Griffin replied.

"True," Caine replied thoughtfully. "But I grew up in a far less…haughty household. Most in the Hierarcha were bred for the job, not elected."

"You mean the Hierarcha isn't elected? Isn't that the whole point, to elect the Hierarcha?" Griffin replied shocked.

"It is elected, but many people are raised to be charismatic and leaders, making them obvious choices. They are often the ones elected."

"Still doesn't seem fair or honest," Griffin said.

"Sometimes, life isn't fair or honest," Caine replied. "But you've still gotta keep your chin up and move on."

The Market was beginning to fill with women, dressed in skirts and bonnets, with coin purses and baskets, looking at produce and food. Stores selling goods, such as cloth and books, had handsome yell boys in the street, trying to attract customers. Here and there, Sorcerers milled about, gaining a following of people who tried to sell their best wares to them.

"It's almost comical," Griffin said, looking at Sorcerer, nearly being mobbed by Mundunes.

"Don't laugh, Griffin," Caine said his voice suddenly serious. "It's not funny when it's the difference between eating or starving." Griffin's smile disappeared immediately.

As they grew closer to the Hierarcha Seat, the shops grew more luxurious and fancy. They were made of brick instead of wood. The streets were now almost shining in the morning sun. People remained inside shops and it grew quieter, now that the yell boys were gone. The streets were filled entirely with Sorcerers, whose noses could not seem to be held any higher in the air. Men and women casually stood to the sides of the roads, engaged in conversation and reading, with the latest news from the Waste Border.

"It says here there was an attack on the Souther Plains-Waste border," a man with a thick black mustache. The Southern Plains was another province, to the south.

"Impossible!" a woman cried, whose gray hair was wrapped in a bun with a very nasally voice . "How could that happen? The Souther Plains are a very defensive people. They have a high brick wall on the Waste Border, so I've heard."

Another man snorted. "Yeah, right. A huge brick wall, you know long that would take? Forever, even with magic."

"Well, it says right here," the mustached man said, "'Late last night, on the border town of Ink, two to three Necromancers broke through the wall―" "Told you so!" the nasally woman cried the woman, her voice sounding pinched like a balloon. "'― and attempted murder on the Mayors life.'"

"They attacked the Mayor?" the snorting man asked, who sorted again. "Really? Surely they know they would've been caught."

"Perhaps they had inside help, who got away?" the mustached man suggested.

"Oh, that would be terrible to think about," the nasally woman cried. "Necromancers and traitors in our own government. What has the world come to?"

"Not necessarily in the government," the snorting man said. "It could've been anyone. A Mundune or an apprentice or a Sorcerer. Any names mentioned?"

The mustached man scanned the front page. "Nope nothing here." The sorting man, once more, snorted. "Likely. Prob'ly trying to make it look like all Mundunes and Sorcerers are innocent. Make it look like its all the Necromancers fault."

The nasally woman shrugged and the mustached man shook his head. "Whatever," he muttered. "Hey, look't here!" he exclaimed. "Supposedly the…" Their voices faded away as Griffin and Caine walked past.

"Caine?" Griffin asked as soon as they were a good distance away from the gossiping group. He grunted in reply. "Do you think that it's true?"

"What? That Necromancers broke through that wall?" Caine replied. "Well, if it's in the paper, it has to be true. They wouldn't lie about something _that_ big. But," he said thoughtfully, "I wouldn't doubt that the story was exaggerated."

"No, Caine," Griffin said. "I was talking about what the woman said; how there might be traitors in the government."

"Oh, that," Caine said, as if he wished to have avoided that. "Well, Griffin, you must understand, not everyone wishes to help people. In fact most people look for gain for themselves." Here Caine sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Unfortunately, people will do anything for money and power. They aren't satisfied with what they have and turn to others to get it. Even if they are Necromancers."

"But why Necromancers?" Griffin asked.

"They are the perfect group to look for help," Caine said simply. "They've been hurt, exiled and seek revenge. Tell them to do something in promise of return here, and they'd willingly do it." Griffin grew silent, mulling over what Caine had just said

The shiny street became rust-red bricks as they entered the circle road before the Hierarcha Seat. Its spires rose above the surrounding shops like a black stone giant. It was terrifying to behold for those who had never seen it before. Griffin felt like turning 'round and running away. Caine placed a comforting hand on Griffin's shoulder and gave him a small smile.

Together, they walked up the red drive, with Caine's protective arm still holding on to Griffin, like a brother. Griffin watched all the other Hierarcha walking in. They wore clothes that seemed to be made of silver and gold, and decorated heavily with gems. They seemed to stand straighter than most, float instead of walk and carry their self with such a grace, elegance and power that no one else had.

In the group of the Hierarcha, numbering ten in all, Griffin spied two other apprentices. One was extremely pale in skin tone and had black hair. Her eyes were blue and she wore blue shawl over a green dress accented with lace.

"Sarai!" Griffin called, waving frantically. She looked up shocked, saw Griffin from the dinner party and waved back, smiling brightly.

Griffin scanned the crowd for the other apprentice said to be here. He caught sight of that curly black hair and green eyes and the scar on the face.

He groaned in disgust and sighed.

"Drake."


End file.
